Thursday, February 16, 2017

House With No Doors

House With No Doors
© Surazeus
2017 02 16

While sitting alone in house with no doors,
the girl with no eyes weaves wings for my feet,
but I pause at the thought of more world wars
and listen to the song of freezing sleet.

Behind me in gloom of my humming home
I hear the whisper of the girl in white
who opened the door when I ceased to roam
and taught me the secret of drinking light.

I open the book of pages I made
and trace on the blankness of resigned hope
the shape of faces I dream in the shade
while counting stars that teach me how to cope.

More people are shot on the street each day
before they can carve the mask of their soul
so I try to map the forgotten way
while setting myself new transcendent goal.

I turn around at the sense of her thought
but cannot see her eyes in evening mist
so I return to where the battle was fought
and wonder why they no longer exist.

We sat around the fire in ring of stones,
sharing tales about our journeys to find
the fountain where we leave their ancient bones
but now I wander in maze of my mind.

I know I remember her secret name
and why she turned away without a smile
but I thought we were just playing a game
and now I stand on the wave-battered isle.

Beyond the wall of paradise I built
she calls my name to give her the door key
so I crown her with gold from aching guilt
and proclaim that she is now Liberty.

I stand by the wall for ten thousand years,
watching my mothers and fathers explore
lush river valleys where apple trees bloom
and feel clear sunrise flash through open door.

I laugh till my face is wet with sweet tears
while reading my life in ancient bookstore
then shift my car through seven higher gears
and fly among clouds where the eagles soar.

Before the moon explodes in butterflies
I light the flame of truth in the brass grail
and tell my children why everyone dies
then we stroll and sing down the signless trail.

The caged bird in the abandoned church sings
which teaches me to always question why
we clumsy humans are not born with wings
and sit on hills while we stare at the sky.

The woman in white with long golden hair
teaches me to write spells in Book of Tales
so I write your name with blood of my eyes
then wander west where the sun never dies.

While writing alone in house with no doors,
I bind angel wings she wove to my feet,
then sing about heroes who stopped world wars
in tune with prophecy of freezing sleet.

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